


Possessive

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: I Want You, You're Mine [2]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Dream Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Peter's POV, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Shared Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: Peter jolts awake with a swear that would have made Nicolae slap him.“Whose dream what that?”
Relationships: Roman Godfrey/Peter Rumancek
Series: I Want You, You're Mine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587463
Comments: 10
Kudos: 133





	Possessive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveInTheTimeOfFandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveInTheTimeOfFandom/gifts).



> hey hi hello this fic exists because LoveInTheTimeOfFandom said some very nice things to me and i cried
> 
> this is Peter's POV of my previous Hemlock Grove fic, Sharing. you don't need to read Sharing to understand this, but i would love you forever if you did and then told me about it. (pls.)
> 
> warnings are the same as on Sharing, warnings: i didn't mark this underage because in my head both of them are always 18 but with the timeline in the show/book it's a bit murky where this would land? also, use of a razor to cut skin for blood drinking/blood play
> 
> enjoy???

_Slick and sweat-tacky, Roman’s skin pale as death except where Peter’s grip creates bruises, and all Peter wants is to get closer, closer –_

Peter jolts awake with a swear that would have made Nicolae slap him. As it is, he’s lucky Nicolae is dead, and Lynda is – Lynda is gone, he thinks. He can’t hear her, and he remembers she said something about running errands yesterday.

He’s panting. He swears again and stumbles out of bed and into some clothes, typing clumsily on his phone the entire time. He sends Roman seven texts; three while he’s still in the trailer, two as he walks out, and the last two as he’s marching up the driveway and onto the porch of that ridiculous mansion Roman lives in.

The entire way, bits of the dream keep coming back, grasping onto his attention like burrs.

_Fabric tearing, Peter’s shirt in tatters before he shucks it to the floor, forgotten. The carpet is rough against Peter’s knees when he falls to them, but he’s too busy looking at Roman’s face to care, the open shock and arousal on his sharp features._

Peter shakes his head with a curse and pounds on the door. When there’s no answer to his knock the first time – either from the door or his phone – he keeps knocking, louder and louder, heedless of who he might wake up with it. He doesn’t give a fuck about Olivia right now. He just needs to see Roman.

The door swings open violently, and he nearly hits Roman. “Quiet!” Roman hisses, looking panicked. He’s in nothing but a pair of boxers that have definitely seen better days, and Peter forces himself not to look.

Instead, Peter levels his glare at Roman’s face. “Let me in.”

“What if I say no?”

Peter rolls his shoulders and doesn’t miss the way Roman shudders. “Then you can answer my question out here in your underwear.”

Roman shakes his head and steps back. Peter doesn’t wait for him to speak before he shoves past him, taking the stairs two at a time. His head is spinning, still, fragments of the dream flashing before his mind’s eye, and he wants this over with.

As soon as Roman is in his bedroom with Peter, Peter whirls around and shoves him against the door. He’s mirroring the dream perfectly, a subconscious echo since he can’t keep his mind off of it. “Whose dream what that?”

“Does – fuck,” Roman starts, stuttering when Peter leans forward, putting more weight on his arm. “Does it matter? It’s a m – moot point, isn’t it? We share the dreams.”

Peter snarls, an unintentional, animal sound. Roman twitches, but his face gives nothing away but shock and panic, still.

“It fucking matters,” Peter growls. “Whose dream was it?”

“I don’t – what difference does it make?” Roman gasps, fingers scrabbling against Peter’s arm. Peter senses movement, glances down for a split second to see that Roman’s chubbing up. His stomach swoops and he snarls again, just as involuntary as before.

His wolf is too close to the surface, but he can’t do anything about that. “Whose dream it was is the difference between this,” he reaches down and squeezes the bulge appearing in Roman’s boxers and Roman actually _squeaks,_ “and me walking out of this house and never bothering you again.”

“Fuck,” Roman whines, and his hips jolt forward, into Peter’s hand. He’s still pushing weakly at Peter’s arm as he practically humps against Peter’s palm. It takes all of Peter’s willpower to shove away, to put space between them instead of pressing closer, instead of kissing Roman where his mouth is hanging open.

He’s panting for no reason, the wolf barely-contained and seething under his skin. “Whose dream was it?” he asks again, and his voice is rough.

Roman rubs at his throat, coughing and groaning all at once. “Don’t leave,” he finally pants. His voice is half-ruined, and something undefined inside Peter feels entirely too satisfied. “Don’t – god, don’t you dare fucking leave.”

Peter feels his face twist in several ways as he goes through several emotions all at once – relief, fear, arousal that’s as hot as hellfire, still more fear, excitement. “Yours,” he says after a moment. “Your dream.”

Roman closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Ours. We share the dreams.”

Peter’s back against Roman in two short strides, shoving his thigh between Roman’s. “I hate you sometimes, you know that?”

Roman whimpers and spreads his legs. Peter chuckles, the sound dark. Roman’s eyes fly open at the sound, and his pupils are dilated, nearly eclipsing the green. Peter’s vision sharpens suddenly, telling him his own pupils dilated in response.

“You like biting,” Peter murmurs. It’s not a question, and he sees Roman realize that.

“So do you,” Roman says, tilting his head just enough to bare his throat. He doesn’t look away from Peter, though, eyes burning.

Peter wants to laugh but instead he groans. He leans forward and bites, right against Roman’s jugular, and Roman’s knees go out. This time Peter does laugh, even though it’s still choked, and he catches Roman’s weight with his hips and a hand on his shoulder.

“Could hurt you, you know,” Peter mutters, licking across the red indents of his teeth. Roman shivers a little and arches closer.

“I’m not stopping you,” he says, head rolling against the door.

Peter glances up. “Yeah?”

Roman shakes his head, face flushing. “God, just – anything, man. Anything.”

Peter hums, taking a moment to think. He keeps licking at the indents of his teeth, nipping softly around them, watching the skin redden and start to bruise. He makes a decision and steps away but keeps his hands on Roman to steady him.

“On the bed,” he orders, tilting his head toward it. “And lose the boxers.” He gives a few more seconds, then steps back entirely, leaving Roman leaning against the door. It takes a long moment for Roman to pull himself together, but Peter doesn’t mind, using the time to take a long look over Roman’s lanky body.

Roman finally pushes away from the door, shivering, and shoves his boxers to the floor. Peter laughs a little, pleased, and waits til Roman is laid out on the bed to move. He knows he’s staring – how can he not, with Roman fucking Godfrey laying naked in front of him? – but the look on Roman’s face, turned slightly away from Peter, tells him Roman doesn’t actually mind.

“Lube?” he asks, stripping his own hastily-chosen clothes off. He keeps his tone casual, not letting the rapid beat of his heart or the nervous energy zapping through his body show.

Roman chews on his lip, but nods, gesturing toward the nightstand. Peter grins.

“Yeah?” he asks. Roman looks away, which is as good as an answer, as far as Peter’s concerned. He bites back a chuckle and pulls the drawer open, digging through the contents. There’s a small, metallic sound as he moves something aside.

A razor.

He can tell that Roman freezes without even looking over. He carefully keeps his expression blank, picking up the little slip of metal and turning it over in his fingers. He can make a few guesses as to why it’s there. His brain helpfully supplies its own…wishes, flashes of dreams he’s had before, ones they didn’t share.

He fights a shiver. Roman swallows audibly and Peter finally looks at him.

Peter hums a question, wordless, and Roman swallows again, then shakes his head. Peter glances back at the razor in his hand and decides. Without a word, he knees up onto the bed and straddles Roman’s lap. Roman gasps, and Peter laughs, the same little, pleased laugh from earlier.

“Me or you?” Peter asks.

Roman looks up at him, eyes flicking back and forth between Peter’s face and the razor. His eyes are wide, but his pupils are still dilated, and he’s still hard where they’re pressed together.

“What?”

Peter chews the inside of his lip as an outlet for the nerves he won’t let show. “I asked, me, or you?”

Roman is clearly confused. “I don’t – what are you – ”

“Pick one,” Peter says, flipping the razor around, watching as Roman is transfixed by the glint. He shrugs and stops flipping the razor. “Me or you?”

Roman swallows again, the movement slow and clear even in the dim light. He’s still glancing back and forth between the razor and Peter, like he can’t figure out what to look at. “Uh – I – okay. Uh. Y – you?”

Peter grins. “Okay.”

He flips the razor around and brings it up to his collar, digging the corner into his skin and dragging it to the side. The cut is small and neat, parallel to his collarbone. He ignores the blood that starts to slowly slide down his chest and looks back to Roman.

“Well?” He’s still grinning, and he knows he probably looks predatory. “C’mon.”

Roman’s mouth drops open, but he doesn’t move. Peter watches as he cycles through confusion and panic, and carefully threads his hand through Roman’s hair. Gently, he pulls him forward, forcing him to sit up.

“C’mon, Roman. Know you want it.”

He doesn’t, actually, not for sure, but _he_ wants it and Roman’s cock is twitching wildly between them so he’s willing to bite back his own reservations. Especially once Roman’s mouth is on him.

“Fuck, yes,” Peter murmurs, pressing closer as Roman follows the trail of blood up to the cut. “Good boy.”

Roman latches on to the cut and sucks, hard. Peter groans and nearly looses his balance, arching closer. He can’t help the way his fist tightens in Roman’s hair. Some of it pulls out into his palm, but he hardly notices, hearing the way Roman is moaning, too.

After a moment, Roman collapses back onto the bed despite Peter’s grip in his hair, eyes a little crossed and mouth parted. His teeth are bloody and Peter laughs, feeling like he’s on top of the world.

“Like that?” he asks.

Roman slurs something unintelligible and bucks his hips. Peter lets out a growl at the sensation, and circles his hips, choking out a laugh when Roman cries out.

“Good boy,” Peter says, leaning down and nipping at Roman’s lip. Roman chases after his mouth blindly, and Peter obliges the silent request. The kiss is deep and messy and it hurts when Roman grabs at his hair, but he doesn’t give a damn. He thrusts his hips, a sharp, precise movement, and Roman groans into his mouth.

Roman’s gasping out half-formed words between their kisses, begging and pleading, his voice rough and broken. “Please, please, fuck, Peter, can’t – fuck – please – ”

Peter hushes him, making nonsense sounds and whispering sweet nothings in Romani until Roman relaxes, falling silent and going lax.

“Good boy,” Peter praises. Roman whines, wiggling a little, and Peter chuckles. He leans forward and nips at Roman’s earlobe.

“Please,” Roman finally whispers, sounding less frantic but just as desperate as before. Peter hums and leans back, sitting up enough to lean back over to the nightstand. He feels the way Roman is tracing his tattoo as he digs out the lube.

He grabs Roman’s hand when he leans back, pressing it hard against the ink on his skin. _Gadjo,_ he thinks. _Outsider. Same as you._ He thinks he sees the recognition in Roman’s eyes where their gazes are locked. He hopes Roman knows.

He breaks the tension with a smirk. Roman squirms, and Peter laughs.

“Turn over,” Peter says. He shifts up on his knees, giving Roman the room to move.

Roman leans up on his elbows and shakes his head. It takes just a second to click. Peter rolls his eyes and bends at the waist, bringing their mouths together. It’s slow and soft, nearly sweet, and Peter’s entire body burns for it. He burns more when Roman _mewls_ into his mouth, a tiny, broken sound.

Peter smiles, breaking the kiss but only going so far as the corner of Roman’s mouth. “Turn over, Roman. Easier that way.”

Roman shudders hard enough to gently shake the mattress but does as Peter says. Peter barely resists a shiver of his own, looking down at Roman’s unmarked back stretched out in front of him, ending in a truly perfect ass that he wants to do terrible things to.

Peter runs his hands down, then back up Roman’s back. Roman whines, pressing closer to the touch, and Peter laughs again. The heady rush of power hasn’t gone away, and he’s realizing it probably won’t. Not til they’re done, at least. He scratches gently down either side of Roman’s spine, humming when Roman arches easily into the light pain.

“You done this before? With someone else?” Peter asks, cupping his hands over Roman’s ass cheeks as he speaks. He kneads at the soft skin and muscle, reveling in the way Roman shivers.

“Uh, yeah.”

Peter knows Roman is blushing, mostly because he can see the red at the tips of his ears. He hums again, gaze drifting back down to Roman’s ass framed by his hands. He squeezes the flesh under his palms, hard enough to pull the cheeks apart and bare Roman’s hole, for just a second. Roman yelps, and Peter just chuckles, relaxing his grip for a moment.

“No – no one o-of any importance,” Roman stutters out. Peter barely takes the words in, leaning down to get closer to Roman’s ass, a little bit transfixed, if he’s honest. At least Roman can’t see the dumbstruck look on his face.

“Yeah?” Peter presses a kiss to the very base of Roman’s spine. Roman jerks. “Which way?”

“Huh?”

Peter chuckles. “Top or bottom?” He lets go of Romans ass with one hand for a moment and flips the lid of the lud open. Roman shivers at the sound.

“B-both,” he mumbles.

“Which do you like more?”

“Wha – which do you _think_?”

Peter can feel the energy building up in Roman’s body again, knows he’s getting back to that frantic place Peter calmed him down from a few minutes ago. He pours a puddle of lube in one palm – thankfully it’s already warm, probably just from proximity to their bodies – and slicks up a few fingers. He presses one lubed thumb gently against Roman’s hole, a distraction. The fact that he’s fascinated by the way the muscle twitches and Roman jolts up to his elbows, then relaxes back down, is secondary. Mostly.

“Relax,” Peter breathes. He’s still bent close to Roman’s ass, almost able to feel the skin against his lips as he speaks. He murmurs a small curse, as well, for his own benefit. Roman doesn’t seem to notice.

“Please,” Roman begs. A glance upward, and Peter grins at the sight of his flaming red ears.

He hums and pushes a little harder with his thumb, the very tip slipping in and then out again. Roman groans and cants his hips back. Peter bites his lip.

“Peter,” Roman gasps, “ _please_.”

Peter very nearly whimpers, but bites it back and covers the choked noise by talking. “Okay.” He shifts a little, adjusting to the side a bit more, and switches fingers once he’s made sure everything is still slick. He presses harder at first this time, more insistent. Roman takes an audible breath and Peter’s finger slides in, slowly but surely, almost to the knuckle.

Peter bites his lip so hard he tastes copper. He’s done this before, but something about this – about _Roman_ – is making this just that much better. Roman is burning up inside, even hotter than Peter expected, and he’s as tight as a vice. It’s definitely been a while, then.

“Good?” Peter asks, and he can’t help the way he sounds awestruck. Roman shifts, back and up, and Peter catches a glance of his hand moving.

“Hng,” Roman slurs. “Move.”

Peter inhales, sharp and quick, and does as he’s told. He moves the finger back and forth for a moment, just til the grip is slightly less vice-like, and then presses a second finger against the furled muscle. Roman just whines and pushes back, bucking his hips toward Peter’s hand.

Peter pushes two digits as deep as possible and leaves them there for just a moment, then scissors them apart and back. He can feel the way Roman jolts, the way his heartbeat ratchets up just a little more, and he feels like he’s going to melt out of his own skin.

He leans forward without thinking and shoves his tongue between his fingers. He has to adjust again, forward this time, when Roman loses his balance, falling forward onto his face. He’s gasping like a fish out of water, and Peter laughs, a little manically, but doesn’t stop. He presses a third finger forward, still licking around them and inside as he stretches the resistant muscle.

Roman is rambling again, gasping out half-unintelligible words as he bucks his hips back, toward Peter. “Peter, Peter, _fuck,_ oh – shit, fuck, Peter.”

“Good boy,” Peter whispers, lips pressed against the furl of Roman’s hole and his own fingers. He carefully curls his fingers down and in, sure he’s got the right spot.

Roman _screams_. It takes a second for Peter to understand, but then he recognizes the contractions, and he gasps like he’s been punched in the gut. He keeps moving his fingers, in and out just the slightest bit, the pads still scrubbing against Roman’s prostate as Roman convulses and cums. Eventually he realizes that Roman’s crying, and his squirming is nearly out of control, enough to nearly knock Peter over.

“Jesus Christ, Roman, so fucking pretty, the things I want to do to you,” Peter hears himself rambling.

“Peter,” Roman gasps, after a long moment of nothing but broken whimpers, “please. Fucking _please_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter mutters, giving a few more thrusts with his fingers for good measure. Roman outright shakes. “Yeah, okay. Turn over.” He pulls his fingers out, grinning at the sad noise Roman lets loose.

Roman’s clumsy as he turns, getting a little tangled in the sheets before he makes it onto his back.

Peter can’t help himself; as soon as he sees Roman’s face, wide-eyed and flushed, mouth wide open as he pants, he’s all over him. The kiss is sloppy, and Peter can’t seem to make a decision on where to put his hands, but Roman doesn’t seem to mind, going lax and moaning into Peter’s mouth.

Peter finally pulls back, panting a little. “Shee-it,” he says, grinning. Roman laughs, a small, strangled thing that quickly turns into a groan as his eyes drag downward over Peter’s body.

“Fuck.” Roman throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh fuck. Fuck me, please.”

“Mm, can do.” Peter nods, but an idea strikes him, and he pauses. “But first.” He leans over to the nightstand and picks up the razor again.

His heart thuds hard at the look of open want on Roman’s face. “One more time. Me or you?”

Roman seems to struggle for a second, gaze fixed on the razor as he squirms. “Fuck, you, again, please,” he finally says.

Peter grins. He makes a cut right next to the first one, parallel to it and his collarbone, but this one is bigger and deeper. It smarts a little as he slices through the flesh. Roman moves to sit up, but Peter holds his hand out, pressing him back down to the bed with a grip on his shoulder. Roman makes a sad, confused sound, but doesn’t fight him. Peter’s grin turns into a smirk as he uses the blood pooling on his collar and sliding down his chest to cover three fingers of his free hand.

He hovers those fingers over Roman’s mouth until he gets the idea. He feels the way Roman’s cock starts to twitch back to life between them at the same time that Roman opens his mouth with a groan, jaw loose and tongue stretched out.

Peter’s cock throbs as he shoves his fingers over Roman’s tongue. Roman groans again, the sound muffled by Peter’s knuckles this time, and sucks hard. Peter shudders at the sensation, then swears when he sees how Roman’s eyes have rolled back. He strokes his fingers over Roman’s tongue, shivering at the wet sound it makes. Roman lets it happen, jaw going loose again as he stares up at Peter, his eyes half-lidded and dark as night.

“Good boy,” Peter mutters, not even thinking about it, “such a good boy, Roman.”

Roman responds by sucking on Peter’s fingers again, wiggling his tongue around the knuckles and whimpering.

“Christ,” Peter grunts. He yanks his fingers back, huffing at the whine Roman lets out. He pushes at Roman’s thighs and Roman opens easily, spreading his legs so Peter can slot between them. _Where I belong_ , he thinks, then pushes it away. Not right now.

“Alright?” Peter asks as they settle together. He hitches Roman’s leg over his elbow to press just that much closer. Roman swallows audibly and nods, biting his lip. Peter can tell he was about to speak. He smiles, probably not as privately as he hopes, and pushes his hips forward.

Roman cries out and arches forward at the first press, angling just right so Peter’s cockhead pops inside. Peter doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t stop, keeping a steady pressure until he’s into the hilt.

Roman is crying. Peter doesn’t know if he knows, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s so pretty, flushed from his ears to his chest, eyes wide open and fluttering closed in turns, green eyes nearly eclipsed by black pupil but still so bright. Peter knows he shouldn’t find the tears streaking Roman’s face so attractive, but damn him, its _Roman._ He could be covered in mud and shit and Peter would still find him beautiful.

“Peter,” Roman gasps after a moment of tension, his arms flailing uselessly at his sides, “Peter, Peter – fuck, P-Peter, please move."

Peter surges forward at that, pressing Roman’s leg up to his chest and burying his face in Roman’s shoulder. “Jesus _fuck_ , Roman,” he pants, licking across Roman’s throat. Roman whines and his cock jerks hard against Peter’s stomach. Peter starts rocking his hips, just a little. Tiny, incremental movements, barely movement at all.

Roman clings to him and whimpers and whines in his ear, fingers pressing bruises into Peter’s skin. Peter doesn’t mind, mumbling a mix of English and Romani into Roman’s shoulder and neck, all of it sweet and sappy and disgusting. He can’t help himself.

“Fuck, Roman, you feel so fucking good,” Peter groans against Roman’s neck. Roman tosses his head back and arches even closer, digging deep scratches into Peter’s back.

“Fuck,” he pants in reply.

Peter laughs, choked, and pucks up the pace. He leans up a little, forcing space between them. Roman makes a bereft noise but doesn’t try to keep him down. He drops his hands to the sheets, long, pretty fingers gripping and tearing at them in turns.

He’s still crying, tears leaking down the sides of his face as he thrashes, caught on Peter’s dick. Peter hisses, hitching Roman’s leg a little higher on his arm and changing the angle, just a little. “C’mon, Roman.”

Roman shouts. Peter huffs a breathless laugh.

“C’mon, want to see you come again.”

Roman whines and twists, almost like he’s trying to get away, but Peter shifts up and grabs him by the hip. His leg slides from Peter’s arm to his shoulder and Peter uses his now-free hand to brace against the bed.

“Peter,” Roman gasps.

Peter just hums, too focused, and moves faster. His gaze keeps flashing between Roman’s face, almost too pretty to be real, and where his cock is disappearing into Roman’s body.

“So pretty,” he mutters, finally catching Roman’s eyes. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Roman.” He gives a particularly hard thrust, dead on, and Roman screeches, splattering cum all the way up to his own throat.

Peter makes that gut-punched sound again and curls forward, hips still moving but rhythm shot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, low and long. “ _Roman._ ”

“Peter,” Roman mumbles back, voice hoarse. Peter slams into him one more time before his world explodes into color and he’s coming, hips twitching against Roman’s ass.

Slowly, as he comes down, Peter just collapses onto Roman, panting. Roman doesn’t seem to mind, just as lax and breathless beneath him. After a long moment, Peter manages to pull out of him. Roman whines.

Peter shifts onto his side and pulls Roman with him. They lay in silence and catch their breaths together for several minutes.

“What would have happened if I said me?” Roman asks, a little suddenly.

“Hmm?” Peter forces one eye open to look at him, not following.

Roman looks away for a second. “Before, with – with the razor,” he says, softly and uncertainly. “What would have happened if I said me?”

Peter’s suddenly very aware of where they’re both covered in blood. Peter’s chest itches a little, and Roman looks – fuck, Roman looks good enough to eat, the reddish-brown contrasting against his pale skin so much it looks almost black. He reaches blindly to where he dropped the razor, finally digging it out from under a pillow. He holds it up between them and watches Roman’s throat move as he swallows.

“Want to find out?” Peter knows he’s smirking, really can’t help it. Despite how sated he feels right now, there’s still heat in his blood.

Roman nods.

Peter hums and moves, turning and pushing up so he’s sitting on his knees. He pushes Roman onto his back, then swings a leg over his waist. Roman groans softly and stares up at him, looking…devoted. Peter fights a shiver and looks over Roman’s body, deciding.

He’s thought about this, not that he’ll admit it. He wants it to be perfect. He wants to see Roman’s face, especially, which decides it. He grabs Roman’s hand, lifting it up so his arm is chest-level. Roman just keeps watching, eyes a little wide.

Peter doesn’t miss the way his cock starts to twitch again.

“Peter?” he asks.

“Hmm?” Peter looks back to Roman’s face from the pulse-point in his wrist. “Still good?”

“Yeah,” Roman gulps, “just…”

Peter grins, knowing where Roman was going. “Yeah,” he says. “Don’t flinch, okay?” He waits until Roman nods, then looks back to the barely-visible pulse point.

“Don’t flinch,” he repeats, bringing the razor up and pressing the sharp edge against the thin skin of Roman’s forearm. Just above his wrist, a little above the pulse point, no major veins. “Won’t hurt too bad.”

Roman grunts, then whimpers when Peter presses and digs the razor in. The cut is tiny, even smaller than the first one on Peter’s chest, but about the same depth, he thinks. It starts to bleed quickly, though, as expected.

Peter chases the blood drip trailing down Roman’s arm with his tongue, tracing it back up to the cut. He covers the little slash with his mouth and sucks. Blood trickles into his mouth, iron and copper and life force. Roman bows toward him, but his eyes are open. Peter’s eyes find his as he keeps sucking at the cut, until the blood seems to stop seeping into his mouth. He pulls back and knows his teeth and mouth are smeared red.

“Yeah?” he asks. Roman groans and shoves a hand into Peter’s hair, yanking him down for a kiss. It’s messy and bloody, but Peter feeds the taste of copper to Roman with relish.

“Good?” he manages to ask between kisses, the word short and sharp. Roman keeps coming back, deep, biting kisses that are making Peter’s cock throb between them. In response to his question, Roman groans and rolls them, settling himself between Peter’s legs.

Peter laughs breathlessly and wraps his legs easily around Roman’s hips. “Yeah, alright,” he says, ducking forward to bite at Roman’s jaw. Roman tips his head, biting back. He leaves a dark, throbbing hickey directly across from the cuts on Peter’s collarbone.

“Want more?” Peter asks. He’s not really sure if he’s asking about blood or sex. He really, really hopes it’s both.

“Want you,” Roman mumbles around the patch of Peter’s skin he’s got in his teeth. Peter presses closer to the stinging pressure and grunts.

“Mmm, yeah,” Peter hums and tightens his knees against Roman’s sides. “I got that. So greedy.”

Roman whines and leaves another aching mark on Peter’s throat, just over his pulse. Peter laughs again and threads his hand through Roman’s hair, getting a grip and pulling sharply. Roman follows, their lips pushing together and teeth clashing before they settle together for a kiss.

“What do you want, Roman?” Peter asks after a long moment of kissing. He’s still so close that his lips are brushing Roman’s skin as he speaks. “More blood?”

Roman whimpers and nods, as much as he can with Peter’s grip on his hair. Peter tugs just slightly again to feel him shiver.

“Yeah,” Peter’s grinning, now. “I know. Do you want to fuck me?”

Roman’s entire body jerks, shoving them both an inch or so up the bed. Peter’s grin just widens.

“Yeah, Roman?” Peter pitches his voice a little lower, lets it rumble out of his chest. Roman bites his lip so hard it turns white, then hides his face against Peter’s throat. Peter chuckles breathily.

“You can,” Peter says magnanimously, stroking Roman’s hair. “Plenty of lube.” He gestures to the lube bottle on the edge of the bed. Roman just groans and presses his forehead harder against Peter’s neck.

“Peter,” he mutters.

Peter just scratches at his scalp, reveling in the way Roman’s shaking rolls through them both. Revels in the fact that he’s the cause of that shaking, that Roman is above him, pressed into him, ruined because of him. It’s an intoxicating feeling.

Roman finally moves, jerkily, and grabs the lube. He spills a bunch of it all over the bed in his haste, but Peter doesn’t mention it, just opening his legs wider.

Roman refuses to put any space between them, making his movements clumsy, but Peter just sighs and tips his head back. The awkward angle doesn’t bother him any, the feeling of Roman’s long, slim fingers still electrifying inside him. He grunts and pushes closer with every thrust in, craving, wanting more.

“Fuck,” Roman mutters, biting at Peter’s throat. Peter groans and tugs at his hair again.

“Ready,” he pants. “Fuck, c’mon, Roman. Fuck me.”

Roma fucks his three fingers in once more on a rough thrust, spreading them out as he does, and Peter shudders hard at the sensation. Roman sits back as he slicks up his cock, and Peter looks over his perfect, blood-stained body.

“C’mon, Roman,” Peter says, amazed that his voice is still steady. He pulls Roman closer, moving so they fit together just right. “Good,” he murmurs. “Such a good boy, Roman, really.”

Roman whimpers and pressed his face against Peter’s neck again as he pushes forward, centimeter by centimeter sinking into Peter’s body. Peter can feel the wetness of tears against his throat.

“Fuck,” Peter groans, long and low and entirely too breathless. Roman whines. “God, Roman, so fucking good. C’mon, move.” He’s not completely adjusted, but it’s close enough – besides, Peter kind of likes the smarting burn.

Roman moves easily, like he’s not even thinking about it, pulling back and shoving forward again slowly. He moves faster and faster as Peter praises him, little murmurs of “Good boy, so good, fuck, yes, Roman,” spilling from Peter’s lips without thought.

After a few long, incredibly wonderful moments of just getting fucked, Peter gets Roman’s attention with a sharp bite to his shoulder. He flips the razor, still in his fingers, to the dull side, and pressed the cool metal to Roman’s throat.

Roman sits up, blinking as if he’s coming out of a trance. Peter grins and flashes the razor. “Me again, or you?” he asks, the razor glinting where it’s not already covered in blood. Roman’s hips stop moving while he’s pressed all the way inside Peter’s body. Peter resists the urge to clench or squirm, to give Roman the chance to get a handle on himself.

“M-me.” he says finally, and Peter nods.

“C’mere then,” he says, pulling Roman back down. “Yeah, like this.” He tucks Roman’s head next to his, putting the curve of Roman’s neck and shoulder at the perfect spot for Peter to latch on. Roman shudders and his hips start to move again, falling into rhythm after a few fumbling seconds.

Peter groans. “God, yeah, Roman. Keep fucking me. Good boy.”

Roman whimpers, and then whimpers again, louder, when Peter cuts his shoulder with the razor. Before the blood even begins to spill, Peter’s biting and sucking at the minor wound. He growls, more of a vibration than a sound, and pulls Roman closer as he stammers.

“Fuck, Pete – Peter, I can’t,” Roman’s sobbing, shuddering hard. “Not – can’t last.”

Peter hums but doesn’t pull back to speak, swallowing his mouthfuls of Roman’s blood. Roman groans from his belly and collapses forward, hips twitching erratically as he cums. Peter growls again, something even lower than before, possessive too, and tightens his grip on Roman. He’s still hard, aching where they’re pressed together, but it’s okay for right now.

But then Roman is scrambling up, backing away as he groans. Peter tries to keep him where he is with his grip on Roman’s hair, but after a moment, he realizes where Roman is going.

“Please?” he asks, flat on his belly between Peter’s legs. He looks fucked-out and desperate, flushed and hair a mess and smeared with blood. Peter just wants to wreck him even more.

“Fuck, yes, please,” Peter voice cracks a little, “c’mere, Roman.” He pulls at Roman’s hair again, a little gentler this time, just to get him moving. It doesn’t take much convincing.

Roman slides his mouth over Peter’s cock with enthusiasm, going a little too deep at the first go and gagging. Peter has to fight the urge to grab his face and just fuck him stupid. Instead, he just gasps and moans out Roman’s name and profanities in every language he knows and some he doesn’t. Roman fumbles for a few minutes but finally pins down a sloppy rhythm. He’s drooling everywhere and he keeps choking, but Peter’s mindless, digging his nails into wherever he can grasp at Roman’s body. He’s moaning continuously, an ongoing stream of cries and filth and encouragement pouring from his mouth.

“Fuck, Roman, so fuckin good.” Peter tugs at Roman’s hair, his words shattered by gasps and moans. “Such a good boy, fuck, you’re going to make me cum.”

Roman just moans and fucks his face down harder, pulling a broken noise from Peter’s chest. He’s never heard himself make a noise like that, and the sound of it only makes Roman go faster and harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Peter can’t seem to stop mumbling, hips starting to roll against Roman’s face and his hand tugging at Roman’s hair in the exact same rhythm. “Fuck, gonna – Roman, please – ”

Roman chokes as Peter cums, but doesn’t stop, just presses forward and swallows hard against the head of Peter’s cock. Peter keens, the sound high pitched and broken into pieces. He pets Roman’s hair and lets it happen, until he’s too sensitive to stand it, aftershocks rocking his system.

He shoves Roman away from his cock but doesn’t let him get far. “Get up here,” he orders. Roman practically falls over himself to get up the bed, going willingly when Peter tugs him down, sprawling over Peter’s chest. Peter kisses him, hard and deep.

“Fucking perfect,” Peter says, voice low and hoarse and entirely sincere. “So fucking pretty, and so perfect.”

Roman whines, but Peter muffles it with another passionate kiss. Slowly, the kiss lessens in intensity, going soft. Peter keeps his grip on Roman tight, though, dominating the kiss with a possessive thought of _mine, mine, mine,_ pounding as sure as his heartbeat. Roman keeps mewling, chasing after Peter each time the kiss breaks even the slightest bit. Peter just smiles, pleased and sated and so very, very in love, and keeps kissing him.

**Author's Note:**

> oof i feel like this one is not as good as Sharing, which is pretty sad because i was real unsure about Sharing when i posted it. oops?
> 
> comments make me do more ridiculous shit like this!


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